


Dreams

by toesohnoes



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-05-20
Updated: 2006-05-20
Packaged: 2017-10-29 20:16:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/323740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toesohnoes/pseuds/toesohnoes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the afterlife, Doyle can access Angel’s dreams.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dreams

Y’know, death’s pretty boring. Doyle had been expecting 24-hour strip clubs, all the whiskey he could drink and then some, some clouds, some harp-playing. He’d wanted to go all-out. He’d done his time with the living, hadn’t he? He’d jumped to a fiery agonising death to save the people he loved. A little tiny bit of a reward might be nice.

Instead he got this. A lifeless limbo, floating in nothing. He could visit his friends, occasionally. He’d taken a trip into Cordy’s head, apologised and been ranted at for giving her the visions. Oops. That definitely shouldn’t have happened. He didn’t even get it; she was human. More than that, she was innocent. She didn’t have anything to atone for.

He’d visited Harry, apologised to her as well. It had been a little uncomfortable, being in the ex’s head like that. At the same time, it had felt almost like home. Her dreams, the only place he could contact them, were welcoming, the settings warm and familiar. The soup kitchen they’d met, the school he’d once taught at, the apartment they’d shared. A past life, one so unconnected with demons and blood and death and sacrifice.

He’d visited his mother’s dreams once, and that was definitely the only time he’d ever be doing that. Her mind was full of things he didn’t want to see, and he’d been bear-hugged for over an hour when she first saw him.

There was one mind that he’d been avoiding almost feverishly, and it was that mind that he was actually the most eager to visit. Talking with Cordelia was fine and all, but she didn’t get it. She didn’t understand why he’d done what he had, why he hadn’t just stayed the side-kick in the side-lines. He could’ve been alive. Angel could have made that jump.

But it wasn’t Angel’s fight. That one had been all Doyle’s. His chance for atonement; he couldn’t let Angel take the fall for that.

So now he was dead and Angel was undead and that was exactly how it was supposed to be. That was how it was supposed to stay. And it would stay, with a few exceptions. Exceptions like this, like the way he was standing in the office of Angel’s mind, waiting for the vampire to properly drift to sleep and join him there.

Everything was in its place, exactly as it had been when Doyle had been alive. He knew that, in real life, it was different now. They had a new guy in, Cordelia had told him. Some old buddy from Sunnydale – a real smart bloke too. Way more helpful than Doyle had ever been. Because of him, there were bound to be changes around the workplace.

But in the recesses of Angel’s mind, everything was as it should have been. Doyle had even managed to find a bottle of whiskey hidden in the bottom drawer of Angel’s desk, and now it was just a matter of waiting.

He was flicking through the books on Angel’s shelves, whiskey glass in hand, when he heard that distinctive whirl of the elevator as Angel finally entered his DreamWorld.

“Took your time, man. I was gettin’ sick of waiting.” Doyle said good-naturedly, turning around and walking towards his friend. He had to smirk a little at the shocked look on Angel’s face. “Relax, Angel. I’m just visitin’, nothing more. Just a figment, y’know?” Comprehension didn’t dawn on Angel’s face. “You’re dreaming, big time.”

Angel nodded. “I know.” Oh. Okay then. That was nice, not to have to do the whole afterlife, not-real, you-won’t-remember-this spiel. Cordelia had nearly murdered him during it. “You’re more real than usual.” Doyle raised an eyebrow, because this was definitely his first visit. “I can smell you, Doyle.”

“Cordy’s told you how creepy that is, right?” Doyle asked, with a slightly nervous grin. This wasn’t how he’d been expecting things to go, not at all. “The whole smellin’ thing. Not exactly natural, is it?”

Angel was moving forwards, slipping through the apartment with supernatural ease. “Nothing’s natural these days. You know that.” He answered, with a cynical look in his eyes. Doyle wanted to know what was happening in the outside world, what had caused that look.

He didn’t have time to ask. Suddenly there were hands on his hips, and he was being pushed backwards onto the desk behind him, and Angel’s tongue was in his mouth and there was a loud crash as a clock and several books were chucked to the ground so that Angel could grind against him. Doyle let out an extremely startled – but muffled – noise, before shifting slightly underneath the other.

Okay, this wasn’t exactly what he’d had planned, but it didn’t exactly suck either.  


  
* * *  


  
Doyle became fairly glad that spirits healed quickly, as otherwise he’d have had a lot of bruises and bite-marks on his body following all of Angel’s dreams that he’d visited over the past few weeks.  


  
* * *  


  
Angel’s hands were tight on his hips, thrusting into him with hard, powerful strokes. With Doyle’s hands bracing himself against the wall in front of him, he kept his eyes closed and wondered if this was breaking the rules.  


  
* * *  


  
“These aren’t just dreams, Angel.” He said, head resting on Angel’s bare chest. He traced formless patterns on the man’s skin, staring at them instead of the brown eyes that he knew would be frowning. “Me. I’m not just a dream either.”

Angel’s hand had stopped stroking his arm – Doyle missed the soft touch, especially as Angel froze underneath him. “What are you?”

“No idea, man. Just know I’m not a dream.” He sighed. “I’d say I’m a ghost, but that kind of puts me in a category with Dennis and I’m not too comfortable wi’ that if you follow me.”

Angel didn’t give any indication of following, which made Doyle wonder if he’d made a mistake in telling him. He’d had to speak up; he’d been trawling through Angel’s dreams for at least a month now.

“So you’re real? You’re Doyle.” Angel stated, and that tension in his body had transferred to his voice, trickling through Doyle’s ears and causing his own body to tighten uncomfortably.

“Uh, yeah. I’m Doyle.” He answered, wishing more than ever for a good glass of whiskey. Hell, at the moment he’d settle for a good glass of anything, just as long as it had a high alcohol content.

Angel nodded, but then he was moving and Doyle was pinned beneath him. A tongue thrust possessively into his mouth, and maybe Angel didn’t mind the fact that Doyle had been lying to him as much as he’d thought he would.  


  
* * *  


  
The next night, Doyle’s passage to Angel’s dreams was blocked by a petite blonde. Pale skin and light hair, but it wasn’t Buffy. She carried danger around her, though.

“Sorry, honey. Angel’s got other plans.” She informed him in a breathy voice, filled with mischief and murder. “Time to move on.”

A last vision hit him – of vampires, death, and wine cellars – before Doyle was pushed fully into the afterlife and Angel’s dreams were left open to Wolfram and Hart.


End file.
